


Breaking the Glass

by johnlockhappens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And some pain, Bobby gains a daughter, F/M, Gabriel has a daughter, Some Humor, Some Romance, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlockhappens/pseuds/johnlockhappens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all that time on earth and his undisputable charm, I have a hard time believing Gabriel doesn't have a child with a human. So, here is her story. Her journey through finding out who she is to becoming a hunter herself. Most importantly, learning how hunting changes you, down to your very soul. Centered around the OC, but the boys will show up! Bobby has a big part and Garth even makes and appearance. Surprise twist at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I wish I owned them, but sadly no dice. 
> 
> I am turning this into a novel, so please review.

The Journal of Jane M. 

Entry #1

June 4  
You know how sometimes a writer will plan out their story step by step, plot point by plot point? They will map out their characters, diving into backstory and motivations. Long into the night they will agonize over each decision and every chapter, thoroughly researching each consequence.  
And then there are some stories that seem to just jump out of the random and onto the page. They require no plotting or research. They flow from the writer's fingers as if it was dictated by fate.  
I am the later writer. I research no cons and I agonize over no decision. I act. More like I react. That is just who I am. This would better for me if I was a fiction writer. But as this is a journal of my history and not fairytale, I have learned to live with regrets.  
Perhaps if I was a secretary, lawyer, burger flipper, or teacher, then I could change my way of thinking. I could become less impulsive and more calculated. I could be less hard and more trusting.  
If things were different....  
But they're no different.  
I'm not different.  
When I first found out what I was, I dropped a glass. The sound of the shards bouncing on the wooden floor was logical, comforting in the face of confusion. If physics was still in effect maybe the world would all go right again, like the way a weeble wobble toy will always straighten. Eventually it will return to its original position, but nothing was the same. I had just accepted my fate.  
I grew up never knowing who my father was for 19 years. I was okay with this. I figured if the son of the bitch wanted to ditch without a word in the first place, I was better off without him. Mom didn't talk about him much, however she didn't talk much at all. When I was a baby, she started seeing things, strange shadows in the bushes and people with disfigured faces. People thought she was crazy. Doctors thought she was crazy. She's been on medication ever since. Between the pills and the scotch she regularly washed it down with, my mother was usually pretty out of it.  
As a kid, I took well advantage of that.  
I was always the class clown. Teachers were known to cry from happiness when I graduated to the next grade. Yeah, I was that kid. Once in the fourth grade, I had a teacher who was extremely OCD about her desk. Each day I would sneak into the classroom and move three things slightly out of place. She would walk in and immediately fix the damage. I did this every day for a month, moving different things each time. One day, with no warning, I stopped. The poor woman went out of mind the entire day trying to find what I had changed. She stopped class and sent us all home, making me the hero of Master's High.  
Another time, I put a thin pocket of water in a bully's gym shorts so that when he sat down to put on his tennis shoes it looked like he pissed himself.  
Juvenile? Of course. Hey, what can I say? I was in middle school and my mom was a basket case. Who wouldn't have a little fun?  
I miss fun.  
When I was 19, my mom got hit by a bus.  
She died one day later in the hospital at 4:37 p.m.  
And that was when I met him.  
The doctor had already declared time of death and I had let go of her cold hand. It was my sign of defeat. She might have been emotionally present for my life, but she had a warm spirit and a ready smile. And now in the course of 24 hours, the warmth had been drained. She was cold.  
I sat in the chair by her bed, face in my hands. The nurses had come in to pull a large white sheet over her head, but I sent her away. The sheet was too final. The sign of no hope in the movies. I knew I only had a few minutes before I would have to face the truth.  
"She didn't deserve this."  
It was almost a whisper. I don't think he meant for me to hear it actually. I slowly raise my head and turn to see a man standing in the doorway. He was leaning on the doorframe, playing with a something crinkly in his jacket pocket. I remember feeling this sadness radiate off him,  
"You knew my mother?"  
He sighed and stepped into the room. He looked like he was in his late thirties/early for-ties, with brown wispy hair and a rather large nose. He looked at me up and down before nodding.  
"We had a relationship once."  
My eyebrows went up.  
"Really?"  
"Yes......nineteen years ago."  
I sucked my breath in quickly and breathing became difficult.  
"You?"  
"Yep," he said with a quirky, but sad, little smile smirk.  
And that is how I met my father.  
Surprisingly, that was not the most shocking thing that happened to me that day.  
Without a word, he walked over to my mother's side and stroked her cheek. He started whispering into her ear, stooping low to get close. He softly kissed her, while I just stared on in utter shock. Then he looked at me, winked, and put his hand on her chest.  
And then.....his hand glowed.  
The whole room filled with light, blinding my eyes. Power seemed to surge in the very air. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth. When it stopped, the man staggered back, breathing heavily. I sprung to my feet and pushed him against the wall.  
"What did you do to my mother, you sicko?!" I screamed in his face. His look of utter surprise faded into an amused awe, which did not deter me. He pointed behind me with a little smirk on his face.  
I turned around to my mother sitting up-right, eyes open and breathing.  
The machines went crazy. The beeping was loud and chaotic. All of the sudden doctors and nurses came crashing into the room, yelling orders and scrambling around like ants trying to fix a leaking anthill. In all the confusion, I saw the strange man slip out. I ran after him, pushing my way through the crowds of confused professionals.  
"Wait!"  
He stopped and looked at me with one eye-brow raised.  
"I...I need answers. I need to know who you are....what you are."  
He winked at me again and turned to leave.  
"Please!" I lunged after him.  
He stopped and it seemed like time stopped with him. The few people in the hallway were frozen in that second. I experimentally moved my arms to see if I too was stuck in place, but they moved without a problem. He slowly turned around and stared at me for several seconds.  
I don't know if I can accurately describe what happened next.  
A light so bright it should blinded me instantly exuded from his skin as his eyes burned with a holy fire. A momentous shadow rose from his shoulder, extending in two wing-like formations. He seemed to grow several feel and a loud booming voice pushed into my ears.  
"I AM THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL AND I AM YOUR FATHER."  
My mouth hung open in shock and I didn't know if I should run or bow.  
The light seceded and time began again, but it felt like I was now the one stuck in time. Gabriel had a smug, self-satisfied look on his face.  
"I've always wanted to do that," he quipped.  
And with that he snapped his fingers and disappeared.  
I don't know how long I stood there. I think a doctor pulled me away.  
"Were you with your mother?"  
"Did you see what happened?"  
"Was it sudden or did she wake slowly?"  
"Was anyone else in the room?"  
"Did you give her any drugs?"  
I was bombarded by doctors surrounding me asking me questions and genuinely being con-fused. I didn't blame them, but I also had no answer for them. What was I going to say? Oh yeah, Doc, it was an Archangel who just happened to be my father? I just stood there with a dumb look on my face.  
"Can I see my mom?" I blurted out. The doc-tors almost looked ashamed and nodded, stepping aside to allow me in the room.  
"Mom?" Her eyes were closed, but her breath-ing was relaxed and steady. Her eyes blinked open and a smile formed on her face.  
"Hey, Baby. How are you doing?"  
"How am I doing? Mom, you are the one who died. How are you feeling?" I sat on the edge of her bed and took her bony fingers into mine, rubbing the back of her hand in small circles.  
Her smile grew wider. "I feel better than I have in years. Gabriel has a habit of doing that, as long as he isn’t switching your foundation with itching powder." I raised one eyebrow and she laughed. "Don't ask!" Her tone was playful, her eyes were bright, and she was laughing. I had never seen her like this. She had never been this happy.  
"So...Gabriel....is....a....." I drew out each words hoping she would jump in so I could con-firm what I had seen.  
"He's called an archangel, dear." She said this as casually as if was a plumber.  
I took a deep breath. "And you found this out...how?"  
"Accident, really," she laughed. "The poor dear accidentally walked into a holy fire ring that was charmed to light up as soon as a celestial being was detected."  
I straightened up in confusion. "Holy fire?"  
"Yes, it's used to trap angels."  
"But...you knew? About...'celestial beings' before Gabriel?"  
She sat up and sighed. She clasped both of her hands around mine.  
"Honey, there is something you should know about your family."  
Then she proceeded to tell me how my family have been hunters for the last four generations. She spoke of the monsters under bed and the things hiding in my closet. Monsters, demons, angels, and evil became all too real in her words.  
I left the hospital in the hour. I left the state within a day. I didn't go back.  
It wasn't until I was out of state and settled in a cheap motel with a glass of cheap wine that I began to research into my mother's words. I was surprised on all the information I found. People had dedicated their lives to things that went bump in the night and I eagerly pored over the pages. I came across a page titled "Nephilim in the Bible."  
I clicked on the page like any other.  
And that's when I dropped the glass.


	2. Journal Entry 2

Journal Entry # 2  
June 5  
When I found out I had "special powers," I nearly killed myself.  
After finding out I was Nephilim (child of an angel and human), I had researched hunters. This lead me, after many false hits, to a man named Bobby Singer. I trekked to his scrap yard, hoping that he could help me make head and tail of this mess. He gave me a place to stay and food to eat. He became an important part of my life  
When I first knocked on the door, Singer answered while deep in his cups. I found out later he had just lost a man he considered a son, Dean Winchester. Bobby was a mess. Late into the night I could hear glasses clink in the study. But I didn't care that he was torn up, because I was torn up too. More often than not, I would join him in the study at all hours. He would pour me a whiskey and slide it to me with a finger on his lips, as I wasn't technically legal.  
The best part of Bobby's house was the books. He had so many wonderful, beautiful books. I spent countless hours drowning my curiosity in information about any topics I could find. Bobby let me apply that knowledge by testing me in different simulations.  
Learning how to shoot a gun wasn't difficult. Aim, however, was,  
"You gotta shoot the can, not the fence, you idjit!" Bobby shouted from ten feet behind me. He had taken to standing way back whenever I had my finger on the trigger after an over exaggerated "hole-in-his-favorite-cap" incident.  
"You think I don't know that, Singer?" I huffed indignantly. I reloaded the gun and took aim towards the already holy cans lined on top the crooked fence.  
"I got one! I got one!" I jumped up and down after getting a successful shot.  
"Stop that jumping around with a loaded gun!"  
"Oh, m'sorry," I murmured, handing him the gun. I was rewarded with an affectionate head slap and a patented Singer smile.  
"Good job, kid."  
Bobby quickly became the father I never had. He helped me to deal with my biology and my mother's lies. He taught me that the angels would hate me if they knew my identity. I was an abomination. I was a mistake. I wasn't supposed to happen.  
I tried not to think about it.  
Bobby took me out on my first hunt two months after I came to stay with him. It was a simple salt and burn. In 1924, a mother was murdered by her adult son and her spirit stayed, tethered by her wedding dress hidden under the basement floorboards. She had been torturing a young couple, who happened to be the most annoying people on the planet.  
We went to the house and found the dress rather quickly. But, Mommy didn't want to leave so easily and the couple were a constant hindrance, despite our best scams to convince them to leave. The young husband's stupidity caused the ghost to start throwing things around, causing Bobby to be trapped under a fallen ceiling beam.  
I rushed to his side and, without even thinking, lifted the solid oak beam like it was a toothpick. His face was so deep in shock he could've passed out. But I didn't even notice. As I was helping him up, the wife began to scream causing the ghost to throw more things around. Already hyped, I instinctively lunged at her. I swear I barely touched her, but she went flying against the wall.  
And that was when I saw it.  
I saw myself in the mirror.  
I saw my eyes.  
They were glowing.  
And I had hurt a human.  
I ran. I ran out of the house so fast I swear I blinked and I was outside, leaving behind a scared couple and a shocked Bobby. I was crying before I slammed into the truck. I yanked open the door and collapsed into the seat, avoiding eye contact with mirrors.  
Bobby joined me soon, having destroyed the dress. He didn't say a word. He just drove. When we arrived home, I ran to my room and locked the door. I sank to my knees. My eyes closed, but all I saw was my own glowing eyes staring back at me, taunting me as it shred away my illusion of humanity. Tears ran down my face as my body racked with sobs, as two mouths of stress and hurt came bearing down on my soul.  
The angels were right.  
I was an abomination.  
I was a monster.  
Drunken in my own pain, I reached for the sharp knife in my duffel. I stood in the mirror staring right into the eyes that had become my shame. Delirious, I positioned the knife directly in front of my eye. They were the source, I wrongly assumed. They glowed. If I were to take them out, perhaps I would be human. If it failed, perhaps I would bleed to death. Either way, it's a win-win.  
Knock, knock. "You okay, kid?"  
I didn't answer. I just held the knife in place and silently cried.  
"Hey! You okay?"  
"Jane!"  
"Open this door!"  
I was beyond the point of hearing him. I couldn't breathe. I was remotely aware of Bobby slamming his shoulder against the door. I stood there still, knife against my head, willing my body to disregard its normal aversion to pain, when the door comes crashing down.  
Bobby lunges for me, knocking the knife out of my hand and pinning me to the floor.  
"No! I need to cut it out. Let me cut it out! Please!" I screamed at him, fighting his arms.  
"Are you insane? No!" He yells back.  
I send him flying into the bookcase and I see blood drip down his arm.  
My eyes glow once more.  
I look down at his blood in shock and collapse to my knees.  
"M'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry," I repeat over and over again through wrangled breath.  
Bobby pulls himself out of the rubble and engulfs me in his arms. "It's okay. I'm okay. You're okay. It's all okay," He whispers to me in hushed, quick tones as we rock back and forth. The smell of whiskey and gunpowder on his jacket has a calming effect as my screams turn to whimpers.  
Once I had calmed enough to see reason, he grabbed my face and held me eye to eye.  
"Now you listen to me, girl. You do not need to cut anything out. Because there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You understand me?" He spoke each word slowly and deliberately. I thought I could see water forming at the corners of his eyes.  
I nodded.

But I didn't believe him.  
I knew the truth.  
There was no doubt in my mind.  
I was truly a monster.


	3. Journal Entry 3

Journal Entry #3  
June 6

We didn't talk about that night ever again. There was no need. But Bobby kept a close eye on me from then on. Deep down I think he was afraid he'd find me bleeding out in bed one morning. He probably would have if he didn't keep me so busy I was too tired at the end of the day to even think about my problems.  
The smell of bacon woke me up about six-thirty in the morning every day.  
"Damn it, Singer, why you gotta get up so damn early?" I grumbled after stumbling into the kitchen after a particularly rough night.  
"Language. And there is nothing wrong with an early start. Do you good to get your lazy ass out of bed at a reasonable time," he quipped, stirring the eggs.  
"Reasonable? Hate ta see what you think unreasonable is, you early bastard," I murmured under my breath.  
I was promptly rewarded with a head slap.  
"I heard that. And language."  
After breakfast, Bobby would drill me on the reading I had done the day before and then usher me out for a 5 mile run. The first time I tried it I could barely make two miles without throwing up, but eventually I was making good time with five.  
After the run, there would be more studying and then target practice. Bobby was also teaching me how to fight hand to hand. Well, trying to teach me. The first time didn't go so well.  
"I want you to hit me."  
He was standing on a ripped up wrestling mat with a little extra padding on his head a limbs.  
"I'm not going to hit you, Singer," I said shaking my head.  
"I'm not a china doll, Jane. You won't break me. Hit me."  
"I'm not going to hit you!"  
"Hit me!"  
"No, Bobby!"  
"Yes!"  
"Oh, for Christ's sake," I huffed and hit him lightly, an "attack" he easily blocked.  
He glared at me with that annoyed Bobby look that told you that you were one wrong word away from getting on his bad side.  
I didn't like Bobby's bad side.  
"Try again and actually try this time," he said his words dripping with annoyance and frustration.  
I gave in and hit him hard. Really hard. Too hard. He went flying back off of the mat and onto the dirt, sliding on his ass for a good twenty feet. My hands went to cover my mouth and I stood in shock.  
"Bobby? Oh, crap. Bobby?!"  
He rubbed his head. "Balls."  
"You okay?" I ran to his side.  
"Yeah, girl, I'm fine. Urghhhh..." He kinked his shoulder into place and rubbed his back. "I forgot you're a bit different."  
"I'm sorry. I tried to say no."  
"I know, kid, I know."  
Needless to say, I practiced hand to hand on a dummy that day forward.  
One morning, I was out for my usual morning run when I started noticing a car following me as I ran along the road. I would turn right. It would turn right. I would turn left. It would turn left. Finally, the true test, I stopped. The car slowed to a crawl.  
I took off running back to the scrap yard as fast as I could. The car followed.  
"Bobby! Bobby!" I ran straight to the guns in the living room. "Bobby! Get in here!"  
"What on earth are you yelling about, girl?" He stumbled in half annoyed and half concerned.  
"Car....following...couldn't...outside...ran..." I was gasping for air, but he got the point. His face was serious in a second and he reached for his own gun.  
"Hunters?"  
"I have no idea, tinted windows."  
He nodded and closed the windows, peering through a crack in the curtains.  
The car pulled up into the long drive and four men armed to the teeth stepped out.  
‘Bobby….”  
“It’ll be okay, Jane. Just remember what I taught you. Besides far as we know they’re here for coffee.  
“I’m scared.”  
He walked back over to me and cupped my face in his callused hands. “There ain’t nothing to be afraid of. I got ya, kid.”  
The hunters knocked on the door. Apparently, they wanted to politely kill me. Bobby didn’t move or even say anything. He just stood there rifle pointed at the door.  
“Bobby?” a deep voice said through the door. “Bobby, open up.”  
No answer.  
“Bobby, we know you are hiding the girl in there. Anonymous source tipped us off. She really half human, half angel and got special powers?”  
Bobby was still quiet.  
“Bobby, we got a statement from a civilian saying she’s dangerous. Our source also says she’s deadly.”  
“Well, she ain’t.” Bobby had finally spoken. “And she is under my protection. You hear me? You want her ya gotta go through me.”  
“She’s still a monster, Bobby. You know we got to hunt her.”  
I cringed at the words.  
“She. Is. Not. A. Monster. She is a young girl and you will not touch her.” Bobby had fire in his voice now. “She is mine. And I won’t let any harm come to her.”  
I was surprised to hear how much I meant to the old man. I was even more surprised to learn that I felt the same about him. Bobby was more of a father to me than any man ever was.  
And I loved him for it.  
“We don’t want to fight you, Bobby.”  
“Then don’t. She hasn’t killed nobody and we are working on controlling her strength. She isn’t a threat.”  
There was a pause and I could hear murmuring outside the door. I noticed I was shaking.  
“Do you take full responsibility for her?”  
Bobby breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Yes, I do.”  
The man paused again.  
“I have a lot of respect for you, Bobby. I don’t necessarily agree with what you’re doing, but I trust you to handle it. But if I hear she is making trouble….”  
“You won’t.”  
“Okay, Bobby.”  
With that, I heard footsteps and car doors slamming and eventually tires pulling away.  
I was shaking like a leaf.  
Bobby looked out the window to make sure they had gone. Satisfied, he threw down the gun and ran to my side, throwing his arms around me.  
“Kid, you need to stop shaking and breathe or you’re gonna pass out,” he whispered in my ear.  
“I’m okay. I promise. I’m okay,” I said as I tried to calm myself and stop shaking.  
He lifted my chin with one finger.  
“They’re wrong, okay?”  
“Okay.”  
I didn’t go on long runs after that incident. Bobby wanted to keep me pretty close to home. He would always check in on me like a mother hen.  
I loved it.  
I loved him.  
And he loved me. Though he never directly said it. Bobby wasn’t the most sentimental of types. But, that’s okay. He cared for me and he proved it with his actions.  
And that was enough for me.


	4. Journal Entry 4

Journal Entry #4  
June 7

I don't know why I let Bobby talk me into this journal thing.  
"It's a history book of sorts. You write down what has happened to you. It's for you to give to ya children," he said, as he handed me the leather bound book with empty, thick pages.  
"You mean when I'm old and crotchety like you?" I quipped, running my hand over the bumpy cover. He chuckled and nodded while pouring himself another whiskey.  
I stared at the book, opening the spotless pages and running my fingertips along the smooth paper. I imagined for a moment it was filled with words and sketches detailing brave feats and horrible monsters. I closed my eyes and pictured a white rocking chair and gray hair. The journal passed from wrinkly, veined hands to the smooth ones of my children. Or maybe my grandchildren, who knows? I saw them awing over my bravery and wit as they poured through the pages. I saw....  
A fantasy.  
All of it.  
An unreachable dream.  
I opened my eyes and whispered, "I'm not going to live long enough."  
Bobby raised his head and stared at me. "What did you say?"  
"Nothing."  
I turned and left Bobby to his thoughts. Before I went to my room I peeked into his study to see what he was doing. It wasn't a surprise. He was on his fourth whiskey staring at an old photo of that Dean Winchester. Over the months I had heard a lot about Dean, he was like a son to Bobby. Bobby talked about how good Dean was with a gun, how he was a ladies man, and how he was loyal to his family. But, Bobby never talked about how he passed. I had found out from a friend of Bobby's that Dean was in hell. Never knew why. It didn't matter. All that matter was that it destroyed Bobby.  
What if I died? What would Bobby do then? I knew my life span was short. What if Bobby had to watch me die? I knew the old man cared for me. I cared for him. I couldn't put him through that.  
Remember how I said I was the second author, the impulsive one?  
I left that night.  
Years later, I would get a call saying Bobby was dead.  
It was the second time I broke a glass.  
I had never written in this journal before I learned of his death. Months after, it only seemed fitting that my last tribute to him would be to tell my story in the book he gave me. Therefore, I write now to tell my children not only about me, but about the man who showed me love when I thought I was a monster. The man who showed me that I was not an abomination. I was human. I was good. I was me. It didn't matter that my father was the trickster from heaven. It didn't matter if my mother was a hunter. It only matters who I am.  
Without Bobby, I wouldn't be here.  
I miss him.


	5. Journal Entry 5

Journal Entry #5  
June 8

I did eventually meet Dean Winchester. I was hunting a vampire nest in Oregon.  
"Agent Summers here, we got another one?" I said as I picked the yellow iconic tape over my head.   
"Two bodies, both with the same holes in the neck, one male and one female," a policewoman said without even looking up from her clipboard.  
"Fifth time in a week," I mumbled as I knelt by the cold body, running my gloved fingers around the neck holes.  
"I'm Agent Kirk and this is Agent Chekov. The DC office sent us."  
I recognized him as soon as I saw him. Bob-by's desk picture didn't do him justice. Chiseled jaw, green eyes, light stubble, strong arms, and a true hunter's body made him impossible to ignore. Dean freaking Winchester. Closely behind him followed a giant of a man with long hair and soft eyes. Sam. He was in the pictures as well, although his hair had been shorter.   
"We already have an agent on duty?" Officer Kelly said, "Agent Summers?"   
I watched as six pairs of eyes turn to me. I was surprised at the recognition in his eyes.  
"Let's discuss this privately," Dean said.  
We walked over to the corner. "So, you're the girl Bobby adopted, huh?" Sam said with a cute little crooked smile.   
"He mentioned me?" I was genuinely surprised.   
"You kidding? He won't shut up about you. Your picture's on the desk."  
That one sentence became the most important words I had ever heard. He didn't hate me. I had abandoned him and he didn't hate me. After his death, those words would comfort me in the long nights.  
“How is the old man?”  
“He’s fine, wishing you call him though.”  
“Maybe I will.”  
Dean’s eyes scanned the crime scene. “How many bodies total?”  
“Nine in a week that we’ve found.”  
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Nine in a week? That is more than usual.”  
“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s like they are trying to get noticed by hunters.”  
“But, why would they do that?” Sam questioned.  
“Ummm,” I said a little timid. “I have a theory.”  
I think they had both forgotten I was there.  
“The missing report numbers over the last month,” I said, “They don’t match up with the bodies. It could be that we just aren’t finding them, but I think it’s deeper than that. You know how fledglings have difficulty with control and have insane bloodlust? Well, imagine if you had ten or twenty brand new fledglings. They would be able to do some serious damage.”  
“You think someone is building a nest?” I had Dean’s full attention now.   
“You know, Dean,” Sam chimed in, “There is some credit to that theory. Besides even the monsters know that something big is happening, this could be their sort of a contingency plan.”   
It was true. Something big was happening. I could feel it my bones. Besides there were way too many angels on earth for it to be normal. Even the demons were coming in a surge. In a way, the whole planet was drowning in tension and anticipation.   
“What’s happening? I’ve noticed a rise in demon and angel activity, but I don’t know why. And wait, Dean, weren’t you in hell?”   
The boys looked at each other before Sam simply stated in an even tone:  
“It’s the apocalypse and yes, he was.”  
And that was the only explanation I re-ceived. Not for lack trying mind you. They would not give me a straight answer. I wasn’t going to crazy with concern though. The way Bobby talked made it seem like these boys had an apocalypse every month.  
Between the three of us, it was short work to find the nest, between the quips and teasing. Dean and Sam were easy to get along with and I quickly slipped into their routine. Working as a team, showed me how beneficial it was to have someone to watch your back.  
But, I couldn't have that.   
I still haven't told them what I am.  
We discovered the nest was housed in a ware-house on Fourth Street that was abandoned years ago.   
“I don’t care what you say, Sammy, I am not changing the damn channel!”  
“Dean, the warehouse is an hour and a half away and I don’t think anyone wants to listen to Metallica on repeat for that long!”  
“I do, Sammy. I do!”  
“Dean!”  
“Sam. Driver picks the music and-“  
“Shotgun shuts his cakehole. I fully remember, Dean,” Sam sighed in exasperation.  
“Well, then shut your cakehole, bitch.”  
“Jerk.”   
I couldn’t keep from making my amused chuckles audible at this point and pretty soon I was laughing so hard I could see the boys giving me confused glances in the mirror.   
The rest of the car ride was spent as a singing match with “Enter Sandman” playing on repeat and all three of us singing at the top of our lungs horribly.   
I could see why Bobby liked them  
When we finally pulled up to the warehouse, everything quieted. The music was turned down way low. All singing stopped. Smiles left our faces. The boys got up immediately and went to the war chest in the trunk.  
If I had ever seen a monster hole, this was the poster child. The paint was practically rolling off the walls. The windows were all boarded up. Spray paint covered the sides in unorganized patterns. Grass overgrew around the cracked concrete leading precariously up to the door.   
“Holy crap.”   
Dean knocked on my window. “You coming?”  
“Yeah,” I fumbled to open the door and grab my stake and knife.   
Sam viewed me with amusement. “First time with a nest this big?”  
I nodded and gulped.   
Dean chuckled and slapped me on the back.  
“If you were trained by Bobby, you’ll do just fine. Don’t worry, we’ll watch your six.”  
We approached carefully. It was the middle of the day, so theoretically all the vampires should be sleeping as the sun was highest.   
Inside looked just as bad as outside.   
Except inside was covered with sleeping vampires.   
I was waiting for Dean to impart his brilliant plan on us. I was waiting for Sam to pull out an unique device to make them unconscious so they wouldn’t wake up while we cut their heads off. No such plan.   
“Count of three. One-“Dean began.  
“Wait,” I whispered furiously. “Are we just going to start hacking? Why don’t we think of an easier way, like, hey, I don’t know, setting the building on fire?”   
They just stared at me.   
“We….we never thought of that.”   
I mentally face-palmed.  
It didn’t do any good. Mommy had woken up.   
The elder vampire gave a blood curdling scream and soon all I could see were fangs.   
Slash.  
Cut.  
Hisssss.  
Scream.  
Swish.  
Slash.  
When you are fighting for your life, it seems that you almost black out. Your senses are hyped to an insane level, but your brain isn’t really focused on the details.   
The vampires flew at me from all sides. They were outmatched by my strength, but the fangs were still an issue. And they were quick SOBs.   
The fight lasted about 15 minutes I’ll spare you the gory description of the sounds heads make when they fall to the ground. After checking that each of the three of us were okay, we burned down the warehouse and all of the evidence with it.   
“Good idea in there, kid,” Dean said while cleaning his blade off. “You make a pretty decent hunter.”   
Sam gave me a smile and looked at Dean. They seemed to have a silent conversation until Dean gave a short nod.   
“You want to stick around, Jane? We’re heading east” Sam asked. 

I wanted to. I wanted to go with them so badly. But they didn’t know what I was.   
If they knew, they would have to kill me.  
After all, I'm still a monster.  
“I wish I could, but I’m heading west. I’m trying to make it back to my mom,” I lied.   
Sam nodded. “I understand that.” He smiled again and gave me a hug. “I hope we run into you again.”  
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Don’t make yourself a stranger. To us or to Bobby.”  
I looked down to the floor.  
Dean put a hand on my shoulder.   
“He misses you.”  
“I know.”  
I watched the Impala pull away hoping one day I would see them again. But I didn’t. Least not yet. Those boys were definitely busy. They truly did stop the sincere apocalypse. People will tell their stories for centuries.


End file.
